


I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard

by Ravenclaw_bae (hahathatsgay)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Poor Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, So much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hahathatsgay/pseuds/Ravenclaw_bae
Summary: The first thing he saw when he woke up was his dad sitting in a chair beside him, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. His mouth was hanging open slightly and soft snores echoed the room. The second thing he saw was an IV in his hand and he knew he was in the hospital.





	1. Chapter 1

        The first thing he saw when he woke up was his dad sitting in a chair beside him, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. His mouth was hanging open slightly and soft snores echoed the room. The second thing he saw was an IV in his hand and he knew he was in the hospital.

        "Stiles?" a voice whispered, sounding as if it had been crying. He looked up and saw that it belonged to Scott who was in the doorway of the room. "Oh thank God you're awake!"

        He lost track of everything that happened after that, his fatigue overwhelming him and the chaos making his head spin. He might have passed out again or simply sat there while everyone fussed over him, he didn't know. All he knew now was that he was wide awake and staring at the ceiling while his dad slept peacefully, well as peacefully as one can sleep after the hell they had gone through. His body desperately needed sleep. He knew that. The nogistune pushed him until he broke, and his body was dealing with the toll. He'd lost a lot of weight because apparently food wasn't on the agenda, and if he thought he wasn't sleeping before... The bags under his eyes were not designer and he felt like a zombie. So, yeah, he needed sleep to recover but his mind was racing with images of what he had done. 

         _Allison dying, Scott hurting, Lydia screaming._

He closed his eyes tightly, willing the memories to go away but they only intensified. 

         _You did this. You let me in. You're to blame._

        "Stop it," he whispered. His chest felt heavy and the darkness was choking him, closing in on him. His throat burned as he felt sobs building. "Stop it!" 

        "...iles. Stiles... STILES!"

        He opened his eyes to see the worried faces of Melissa and his father. He felt someone holding him and he realized it was Scott. He must have been screaming. That realization made him sick. How many people did he disturb while he was having a...an  _episode_. 

        "What..." the question died on his lips but his dad understood what he was asking.

        "You had a nightmare," he murmured. "You started screaming in your sleep and I had to get Scott in here to calm you down."

        Stiles nodded, numbly. He didn't sleep the rest of the nights he was in the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

        He couldn't sleep in his own bed. Hell, he couldn't sleep period. Every time he managed to drift off, we woke up screaming and his dad was there holding him down as he flailed around. Sometimes he'd wake up crying. Other times he woke up to the feeling of blood on his hands. He'd run to the bathroom and scrub his skin raw in order to get it off, but it wouldn't. He still felt it running down his fingers. It made him sick.

        The day before he was supposed to return to school, Scott spent the night. It was a typical night for them. They played video games, Scott usually winning, stuffed their faces with pizza, Stiles didn't eat as much as usual, and watched TV, Buffy was as hot as always. If Scott didn't focus on the bags under his friend's eyes, the bones protruding through his skin, the smell of fear and anxiety coming off him, then everything seemed normal. It was just a normal guy's night.

        Finally it was time for bed, and Scott changed into some sweatpants and made his bed on the floor. He and Stiles usually slept in the same bed during their sleepovers. Stiles' back always hurt after sleeping on Scott's floor and the noises of the house settling was louder when Scott was on the floor. But he didn't know if Stiles would be comfortable sharing a bed right now.

        Scott eventually fell asleep after focusing on Stiles' breathing for a while. It seemed as if both boys were sleeping peacefully, but Scott soon awoke to the sound of the shower running.

        He frowned, looking at the bed to find it empty, "Stiles?" He quickly got up and hurried to the bathroom. The door was wide open and the light was on and Scott had to take a second for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.

        He heard crying and he threw back the shower curtain to find Stiles sitting on the shower floor, fully clothed and sobbing. He was scrubbing at his arms.

        "It won't come off," he was whimpering. "It won't come off."

        "Stiles," Scott murmured, kneeling down. "What's wrong? What won't come off?"

        "The blood," Stiles said, his voice cracking. "It's not coming off. It's my fault and it won't come off." He was shaking like a leaf but finally he looked up at his friend. "Scott?"

        "Yeah, it's me," Scott said, grabbing his hands to keep him from irritating his skin further.

        "I'm sorry," Stiles murmured, his face crumpling as another sob escaped. "I'm so sorry."

        Scott didn't reply. He just crawled in beside his best friend, holding him as he cried.

        Stiles didn't go back to school that day.


	3. Chapter 3

        Lydia is the one who finds him crying in his jeep. He's supposed to be at lacrosse practice but he told Scott to go along. He'd be there in a minute.

        "Do you need me to stay?" Scott had asked, his eyebrows knitting together in worry.

        Stiles had shaken his head, "I'll be fine. Just need some fresh air." He had hurried away before Scott could say another word.

        He was proud of himself. He'd made it all day. He read out loud when Coach asked him to. He ignored all the concerned looks when people saw his bloodshot eyes. He ate almost half his lunch before he felt sick. He deserved this small breakdown, damn it.

        There was a knocking on his window and Stiles looked over to see Lydia smiling sadly at him. Sighing, he unlocked the door so she could climb in.

        "Hey," she said, softly. "You doing okay?"

        Stiles scoffed, "You found me crying in my car. I'm having major flashbacks to last year." He looked at her. "Don't you dare tell me I look beautiful when I cry."

        "Well there goes my brilliant plan to cheer you up," Lydia smiled. "Seriously, though, Stiles, we're worried."

        "I get that," Stiles snapped. "Trust me, I do. But you have more important things to do than worry."

        "Like what?" Lydia shot back, raising an eyebrow.

        "Mourning." Lydia stayed quiet and Stiles knew he hit a nerve. "I have to get to lacrosse practice. Scott's waiting."

        "I'll walk you," she offered.

        "I can walk myself," he said, angrily.

        Lydia took the hint and sighed. She got out of the car and hesitated. "You can try to push us away, but it won't work. We care about you." She shut the door and walked off.

        Stiles watched her leave, tears rolling down his cheeks at her words. He swiped at them, frustrated, but they kept falling.

        He didn't make it to lacrosse practice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains an anxiety attack and suicidal thoughts. If that makes you uncomfortable or is triggering at all to you, please do not read. 

         He sees Allison in his dreams. Sometimes she's happy, laughing with Scott and Lydia. Sometimes she's fighting, aiming her crossbow at an oni and killing it. Most times she's dying, losing consciousness in Scott's arms. Stiles hates those dreams.

        The three of them were sitting at lunch when the anxiety attack hit him. Lydia was laughing at something Scott had said and Stiles watched as she glanced to her left as if she was expecting someone to be there. It happened quickly and he was probably the only one who really noticed it. But it was enough to set him off.

        Images of Allison danced in his brain and he panicked, unable to tell what was real and what was his imagination. There was a dull roaring in his ears and a pain his chest as he struggled to breathe. Why should he breathe when Allison wasn't?

        "Stiles?" he barely heard Lydia's voice over his own thoughts and the pounding in his ears.

        He scrambled out of his chair. He had to get out of this room. He had to get away from that empty chair that was mocking him.

        She's not here. She's not here. Your fault. Your fault. Dead, dead, dead.

        "Stiles, wait!" Scott yelled as his best friend fled the scene.

        Stiles found himself in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He stared at the bags under his eyes. Deep down he knew it was because he hadn't been sleeping well but all he could see was him. That monster wearing his body and hurting his friends. Was he still there? Was this all a dream? Was that thing still possessing him and everything he thought that had happened was all in his head? No, he was awake. Allison was dead and his friends were grieving and he wasn't sleeping or eating. The nogistune was gone.

        You can't rid of me, Stiles.

        "You're not real," he told himself. "You're gone. We got rid of you."

        I'm always here, Stiles. Even in your dreams.

        "No, I'm awake. I'm not dreaming." he shook his head.

        Scott hates you.

        "No," tears were streaming down his face.

        You killed Allison.

        He needed to count his fingers. He needed to know he was awake. He looked at his hand, starting to count.

        "One... two..."

        You're the monster, Stiles.

        He lost count so he started again, "One... two..."

        You should be dead.

        "Three... four..."

        Everything would be better if you were dead.

        "Shut up!"

        You can fix everything by ending it all.

        "Stop it."

        Just die. That's all you have to do.

        "NO!"

        "Stiles?" Scott whispered, his eyes wide. The mirror was broken and Stiles' hand was bleeding, dripping onto the white linoleum and staining it red.

        Stiles blinked, pain suddenly flooding his sense. He looked down at his hand. There were cuts on his knuckles, tiny bits of glass embedded in his skin. "He wouldn't stop talking."

        Scott knew better than to ask questions. "Let's get you to the nurse, buddy." He grabbed Stiles by the elbow, his heart breaking when the boy flinched. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to fix you."

        Stiles didn't say anything.


End file.
